


All the Good Ones

by aubreyli



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Professor!Blaine fic, Sexual Fantasy, Teacher/Student Roleplay, adorably!fail!spy!Kurt, and longsuffering!TA, explicit sexual content in chapter 2, featuring hot!teacher!Blaine, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubreyli/pseuds/aubreyli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Anderson is one hot piece of ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr, an embarrassingly long time ago. Author fails at timely update with her AO3 page.

Professor Anderson is one hot piece of ass.

No, seriously,  _everyone_  thinks so.  It’s why his sections are always full, sometimes over-full, because a lot of McGregor’s students come to his classes instead, never mind that Professor Anderson, being the youngest member of the department and thus the one stuck with the shittiest timetable, has his classes in one of those three-hour blocks of death that everybody hates, on _Friday nights._

To be fair, though, they might come for his (round, firm, _perfect_ ) ass, but they _stay_ because he’s actually a really good teacher: he somehow manages to make even the driest material interesting, and he never makes you feel like an idiot when you ask a stupid question.  He’s also the kind of teacher who can shoot back a witty retort to a snide question, and then immediately soothe any ruffled feathers with a self-deprecating joke; the kind of teacher who will grant you an extension if you really need one, but if you’re faking an emergency then you’d better have a good cover story ready because he’ll weasel the truth out of you if you don’t (right, Amanda “lost my dog that I don’t actually have” Lang?).

Naturally, he gets hit on like crazy, especially during what we veterans affectionately call “undergrad shopping week,” where the little fresh-faced undergrads sit in a class for the first time and try to suss out in the first twenty minutes whether this is enough of a bird course for them to keep their GPA without actually having to do any work.  This is my second year being Professor Anderson’s TA, and it’s always hilarious to watch their jaws _drop_ as he walks in with his fifties haircut, perfectly tailored pants, and dazzling smile.  It’s even funnier to see how long it takes them to dig themselves out of their haze of lust and start actually taking notes on what he’s saying.  I remember this one time, when this guy forgot his pen and asked around for someone to lend him one, and Professor Anderson fished one out of his jacket pocket and gave it to him (with a smile, of course), and the guy totally _froze_ and just _stared_ at him and didn’t move a muscle _for the entire first half of the lecture._

Okay, fine, I’m not gonna lie: I was a little like that too, when I first got assigned to be his TA.  Don’t judge me, you haven’t seen him in person, okay (especially on those days when his contacts itch and he wears his _glasses,_ oh my goodness),or heard the intoxicating ebb and flow of his voice when he reads out loud.

And yeah, I know that he’s gay, and that he’s married.  Everyone knows – it’s on his faculty profile on the department website, and he’s always talking about his husband.  You’d be surprised how little that discourages people, though – if anything, the fact that he’s unattainable actually makes a lot of them _more_  eager to try to get in his pants.  I think they take it as a challenge or something.

I got to meet his husband a few months ago, actually, even though I didn’t know he was Professor Anderson’s husband at the time.  It’s kind of a funny story. 

It was around the last week of September, and still early enough in the year that most of the students hadn’t yet gotten the hint that no matter how low they wore their tops or how tightly they wore their jeans, or how brazenly they flirted with him after class, he still wasn’t going to pin them against the chalkboard and ravish the fuck out of them. 

But anyway, I was sitting at the back of the lecture hall, like I usually do, and watching yet another wave of undergrads practically cream their pants as Professor Anderson made a Sarah Palin joke, when this _guy_ walked in.

Naturally, I thought he was a student, and I was kind of weirded out, because come on – what kind of student comes to class when we’re two hours and forty-five minutes into a three-hour lecture?  But the guy didn’t look like he was embarrassed at how late he was, or anything; he kind of just quietly sat down a few seats away from me.

So now, I was curious, right?  Because the way this guy was _looking_ at Professor Anderson was pretty much like how most of the students looked at him (i.e., like they wanted to climb into his lap and ride him like a racehorse), but they tended to crowd themselves at the front, presumably to give Professor Anderson a good view of their cleavage/package.  And also, there was no way that this guy was a pre-law student, because he was wearing – I shit you not – a white fucking _straitjacket_ over skintight, lace-up pants, and knee-high Doc Martens, and you can call me out for stereotyping all you want, but generally, people who dress like _that_ don’t come to class to learn about the difference between _malum in se_ and _malum prohibitum,_ okay? 

He was totally cute though, and I guess I wasn’t very subtle in the way I was staring at him (there goes my career in espionage), because after a few minutes, he turned to me, held out his hand, and whispered, “Hi, what’s your name?”

“Emily,” I whispered back, and reached across the seats separating us to shake his hand.  “I’m Professor Anderson’s TA.”

“Are you, now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.  He looked kind of amused, which surprised me, because usually when I told people that, their response tended to be something along the lines of, _‘Can you get me into Professor Anderson’s office?’_   “What do you think of him?”

I shrugged, still a little bit wary of him, because I really did like Professor Anderson, and he had just agreed to be my thesis advisor, so if this guy was like, a crazy stalker or something, I didn’t want to say too much, you know?  “He’s a good teacher,” I said.  “He knows his stuff.  His students really like him.”

“So I hear,” he said, with like, a _leer_ on his face.  He leaned in closer to me, and I noticed a bit of bling on his left hand.  I looked more closely, and saw that he was wearing a wedding band.  It was a nice one too, either white gold or platinum, with what looked like a row of six alternating rubies and sapphires embedded in the metal.  The ring looked familiar, but for some reason, I couldn’t place it; I was too distracted by the _wolfish_ grin on the guy’s face as he asked, “Is it really true that all his students have the hots for him?”

(And okay, before you start judging me for not making the connection by that point, let me first say this: Professor Anderson told us that he and his husband met in high school, okay?  And that they went to their proms together, so we all assumed that they were the same age.  Now, Professor Anderson is close to thirty, and he looks it.  This guy, though?  He looked like he’d still need a fake ID to buy a beer.  In _Canada._ )

Anyway, I wasn’t sure what to say, because I was thinking that he was either trying to cheat on his spouse, or here to invite Professor Anderson to a threesome or something, so I just told him that yes, his students thought he was hot, but he was totally taken.  Like, fell-in-love-at-sixteen-and-got-married-to-his-high-school-sweetheart-and-now-never-shuts-up-about-how-amazing-his-husband-is taken.

But the guy just started _laughing,_ and saying, “Really?  He said that?” 

And I was just about to ask him who the hell he actually was when I hear Professor Anderson say, loud and clear, “And if Mr. Hummel would be so kind as to share with the rest of the class what he finds so humorous about the verdict of _Whitney v. California_ , perhaps we’ll be able to move on with the rest of the lesson.”

I just froze.  I mean, first of all, I was really surprised, because that was kind of a dick move, just calling him out like that, and definitely not one that Professor Anderson’s _ever_ pulled before.  But also, I was surprised because I thought, _holy shit, I guess he actually is a student! _

(Why wasn’t I surprised that Professor Anderson knew his name?  He knows everybody’s name by about the third or fourth week of class.  I don’t know how he does it, because it usually takes me about three or four _months,_ and the class isn’t even all that big.)

But anyway, back to my story.  So the guy kind of looked embarrassed and was like, “I’m sorry for disrupting the class, Professor,” and we were all expecting Professor Anderson to crack a joke and keep going, but he _didn’t._

Instead, he kept on glaring at this guy and said, in the coldest fucking tone of voice I’d _ever_ heard come out of his beautiful mouth, “Save your apologies.  See me after class.”

And then he went back to finishing his lecture, and let me tell you – the class was dead fucking _silent._ People kept on turning around and looking at the guy, and looking at each other, like they were wondering what the hell this guy had managed to do to piss off someone like Professor Anderson.  And I felt really shitty too, right, because I’d been talking to him, and now I’d gotten him in trouble, so I leaned over and whispered, “Hey man, it’ll be all right – just apologize again and be on time next week, okay?”

But the guy just turned to me and fucking _smiled,_ like this was a _good_ thing, and didn’t say another word to me.

A few minutes later, class ended, and for the first time, nobody stayed to “ask questions” (read: flirt outrageously with him); I guess they all saw that he was in a lousy mood and just got the hell out of there.  Me, though, I went around the corner to where the exit was, but I didn’t actually go out.  I was a little worried, okay, and yeah, kind of curious too.

So I watched as the guy made his way down to the front, where Professor Anderson was sitting on the edge of his desk, and came to a stop a few feet away from him.  Professor Anderson looked at him for a few seconds, up and down, and then asked, “Care to explain to me what you were doing back there?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” the guy said.  He was doing that chastised schoolboy thing, where you clasp your hands behind your back and hang your head.

“You were flirting with my TA,” Professor Anderson said, and that’s when it twigged for me that there was something I was missing, because the way he said that was almost... flirty.  But Professor Anderson _never_ flirted back with anyone who flirted with him.

“I was _not_ flirting with your TA,” the guy replied, sounding a little indignant.  “She’s very cute, and has great taste in shoes, but she is definitely _not_ my type.”

“Then what is your type?” Professor Anderson asked, and wow, he was _definitely_ flirting, and I was like, _glued_ to the scene unfolding in front of me.

“Well,” the guy said, in a low, sultry tone, as he _sauntered closer to Professor Anderson,_ “I like men, first of all, especially men with dark, curly hair.  And hazel eyes, of course – I’m _such_ a sucker for hazel eyes.”

“I see,” Professor Anderson said.  He was smiling now, and they were so close that they were almost touching.  “Anything else?”

“Oh, you know, the usual – nice smile, well-defined arms, an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.”  The guy reached out and started playing with Professor Anderson’s tie.  “I also like a man who can sing and play the piano, even if he does squander his musical talents on making mash-ups of Katy Perry songs.”

“Katy Perry is a goddess,” Professor Anderson admonished, in the same gentle, patient, and slightly patronizing tone of voice he’d use when one of his students grossly misinterpreted something. 

“Says you,” the guy retorted, before leaning in and _kissing_ him, and that was when it clicked for me, why the guy’s ring had looked familiar, and why he had laughed when I’d told him about how Professor Anderson was always talking about his husband.

And let me tell you, I almost wish that they hadn’t saved this for after everybody had already left, because I can guarantee you that nobody would be hitting on Professor Anderson if they could see the way those two were going at each other.  Like, Kurt (that’s his husband’s name) was basically _eating Professor Anderson’s face,_ and like, pushing him back farther on the desk so that he could straddle Professor Anderson’s lap, and like, start taking off his clothes.

It was the hottest thing I’d seen in a long, long time.

What happened after that?  What do you mean what happened – what, you think I stayed and watched them fuck?  What kind of pervert do you think I am?

Okay, okay, I might have stayed for just a little while.  As for what happened, let’s just say that the straitjacket Kurt was wearing was a lot easier to take off than I thought it would be. 

And also?  I’m never going to look at that chalkboard the same way again.


	2. Kurt Hummel's Top 5 Sexual Fantasies about His Professor Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing is, Kurt knows Blaine isn't into teacher/student roleplay, and he completely respects that. It doesn't mean he can't fantasize about it, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deliciousale asked for teacher/student roleplay set in Professor!Blaine verse. I protested that teacher/student isn't really my thing. This was our compromise.

It’s not that Kurt _doesn’t_ find Blaine sexy when he’s just being himself, because Kurt most definitely does.  Honestly, Blaine could be pouring milk and Kurt would still stare and blush and feel the need to loosen his collar.  But there’s just _something_ about his husband when he’s in professor-mode: all buttoned-up and gelled-down and oozing confidence and authority from every _pore_ – something about that just _gets_ Kurt, hits him low in his belly and flares heat up his spine and squeezes him harder and harder with every breath he takes, until he’s quivering and panting and squirming in his seat.

He remembers the first time he got to see Blaine like that, the first time his newly-minted professor!kink grabbed him by both his literal and metaphorical balls – it was the day before Blaine’s first lecture, and he was nervous, actually pacing around the living room and reviewing his notes over and over again.  By the time he asked Kurt if he’d mind sitting as Blaine’s audience just so that he could have some live feedback, Kurt was feeling so sorry for him that he agreed right away, even though he knew as much about law as a duck knew stock broking.

But apparently, just having him there was enough for Blaine to turn on his performer charm (and remind Kurt that Blaine was one of those strange people who got stage fright only when there _weren’t_ people watching), and it was like flipping a switch – all his nerves vanished, he stood taller, he started spouting law... stuff with a twinkle in his eye and a secretive smirk tugging at his mouth, and it only took about ten seconds for Kurt to completely zone out everything Blaine was saying because all of a sudden, this capital-F _Fantasy,_ the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since before he and Blaine started having sex and he only had his imagination for jerk-off material, unspooled in his mind.

He was in a lecture hall, on his knees, in front of Blaine, with Blaine’s hand fisted in his hair and his dick deep in Kurt’s throat and fucking him, hard and relentless the way Kurt loved but Blaine seldom indulged because even during sex, Blaine was a fucking _gentleman._  But it wasn’t just the cocksucking, it was the fact that Blaine _kept lecturing_ through it all, talking and talking in that blithely confident, sexy, professorly voice of his, like Kurt wasn’t even there, and Kurt’s never made a secret of how much he got off on Blaine’s voice on any given day, but it had never affected him like _this_ before.

He was so lost in his fantasy that if Blaine hadn’t noticed he was staring off into space and snapped him out of it, Kurt was relatively certain that he was mere seconds away from whipping it out and jerking off right then and there.

That was the night he discovered that he had a massive kink for his husband’s profession.

Unfortunately, that was also the night he discovered that while he and Blaine were wonderfully, amazingly, fantastically compatible when it came to most of their kinks, this kink wasn’t going to be one of them.

So he decided that he just isn’t going to say anything to Blaine, because – disappointment aside – he really does respect Blaine’s professionalism and his wish to keep his sex life and his professional life distinctly separate.  To be perfectly honest, there is a small part of Kurt that’s actually... kind of grateful that even teacher/student _role-play_ makes Blaine uncomfortable, because it means that he’ll never to worry about Blaine cheating on him with his students (all of whom apparently _drool_ over him, which shocks Kurt not even a little bit).  But that does absolutely nothing to stop the fantasies, and you know what?  If Kurt can’t have the real Professor Anderson spank him with a ruler and call him a bad boy, then he should at least be able to get it in the safety and privacy of his own imagination.

Yeah, the spanking fantasy is a good one, at least top five, if not top three.  It’s the one where Kurt does something bad – cheats on a test, plagiarizes an essay – and Blaine (no, _Professor Anderson_ ) catches him at it and gives him a choice: be reported to the Dean of Academics and face official charges, or let Professor Anderson take care of his punishment... personally.  As in, Kurt personally bending over Professor Anderson’s desk, pants around his ankles, gripping the edges of the wood while Blaine makes him _count_ each strike as it falls across the tender flesh of his ass.  Kurt’s good at first, indignity lending him the courage and spite to actually count out loud, voice clear and strong despite the slight trembling in his legs.  But by the tenth strike, it just gets too much – it hurts too much, and Blaine doesn’t set any kind of rhythm, so Kurt’s always tensed and anticipating the next one.  He can hear his own voice get thicker and shakier and he can’t help jerking every time the ruler slams down on him and finally, by the twentieth strike, he’s all-out _writhing_ against Blaine’s desk, biting his lips raw to keep from moaning, because he can’t let his professor know how much this is turning him on, how desperate he is, how much he wants to beg for more.

God, Blaine doesn’t even fuck him in that one – doesn’t need to, because Kurt, both the Kurt in the fantasy and the one masturbating to said fantasy, comes before they get to number thirty-five.

He loves the spanking fantasy.  He’s also kind of embarrassed about that one, because normally, he doesn’t like to be spanked.  At all.  Certainly not with a ruler.  And Blaine doesn’t even _use_ rulers in class; he uses a laser pointer.

There’s another fantasy that Kurt likes, and it’s probably the only one on his top five that Blaine might actually consider doing, possibly, maybe – he comes up with it after the time when he sneaks into Blaine’s lecture and meets Blaine’s TA, Emily (lovely girl, protective of her professor in a way that Kurt finds kind of sweet, even if she did mistake him for a student).  It involves Kurt having Emily’s job, except that he’s pretty sure that real TAs aren’t asked to do the kinds of things Kurt does in his fantasy (at least, they sure as hell better not).  Things like blowing Blaine in his office while he grades papers, just kneeling under his desk with his mouth stretched around Blaine’s cock for hours as he brings Blaine off again and again.  Things like bending over whenever Blaine wants him to, over whichever flat surface Blaine chooses, to be fucked long and hard and _so good,_ and then just being _left_ there, panting and shaking, while Blaine heads off to class _._ Although he’s particularly fond of the one where _he’s_ the seducer who sets up a campaign to get Professor Anderson in bed, by “accidentally” dropping things while wearing his thinnest pants, or not-so-innocently fellating phallic foods in front of him, or simply by standing too close to him under the pretense of asking a question, pressed firmly enough against Blaine to make sure he knows that Kurt’s not wearing _anything_ under his skintight jeans.  All of which leads to Blaine hoisting him up against the chalkboard and fucking him so hard his shoulders have bruises and his entire back is covered in chalk dust.

The fourth fantasy is the one he’d really, really like to do, though, despite the fact that he knows Blaine would never go for it.  It’s the porn cliché, everyone knows that one – the scholarship student who goes to his professor, desperate for a higher grade on his exam because he’ll lose his scholarship otherwise, and he _can’t,_ he’ll do _anything, please, Professor, please._   He has a special degree of love for this one, because he knows that if Blaine – the real Blaine – was ever put in that position, he would never, ever, _ever_ abuse his power over a student, but somehow, that makes the fantasy that much hotter.  It’s as though, by mentally replacing Blaine with this doppelganger, Kurt’s no longer bound by what Blaine _would_ do, thus opening himself up to fantasies of what Blaine _could_ do, were he a different kind of man.

And oh _God,_ what Blaine _could_ do... he’s thought about it, and he’s occasionally felt ashamed because the man in his fantasies is so different from Blaine that he felt like he was cheating.  But he’s thought about it, about Blaine making him strip, slowly, _make it a good show,_ he’d say, until Kurt’s completely naked and Blaine hasn’t even loosened his tie.  He’s thought about Blaine making Kurt ride him while Blaine remains fully clothed, just with his pants undone and his cock out, not even fucking Kurt – forcing Kurt into greater depths of humiliation by forcing him to do all the work. 

He’s thought about sitting in class with a remote-controlled vibrator up his ass, forced to bite back his whimpers for the entire three hour long lecture while Blaine turns the settings up and down at whim.  In some of the fantasies, Blaine doesn’t put a cock ring on him, and actually makes him come, in his pants, in class, surrounded by five hundred of his peers in a fucking lecture hall. 

There are also the ones where Blaine makes him _wear_ things, things that his Blaine would never ask for, because as far as Kurt knows, his Blaine doesn’t have a fetish for Kurt in women’s underwear, but _this_ Blaine does, and has fantasy!Kurt come to class in everything from crotchless lace panties to thigh-high lace stockings to a full corset – and oh, the _corset,_ that sparks off a whole tangent of other fantasies, in which Blaine fucks him senseless while tightening the corset little by little, until Kurt’s so dizzy from oxygen deprivation that his orgasm, when it comes, completely knocks him out.

(He and Blaine have never done breathplay.  He should get on that.)

His fifth and last of the top five fantasies doesn’t really make a lot of sense – well, even less sense than the previous four.  This one started way back when he’d just met Blaine, in that early stage of their relationship where Blaine had seemed so worldly and sophisticated and infinitely wiser and more experienced than Kurt could ever hope to be.  It had been ages since Kurt had jerked off with someone specific in mind (after Finn, and the disaster that ensued, he’d gone back to his old standards of faceless, hard bodies and rough hands and big cocks), and as he was touching himself that night, his thoughts somehow strayed to just idly wondering how Blaine masturbated, if he did anything different, if he knew secret masturbation techniques that Kurt didn’t, and _that_ turned into thoughts about Blaine _teaching_ him said techniques.  He’d actually crafted almost an entire storyline of Blaine Anderson inducting Kurt Hummel into the hedonistic world of carnal pleasures, when it became clear that whatever “experience” Blaine had was almost entirely theoretical in nature, and fumbling together as two idiots in love who didn’t know what they were doing was more fun anyway.

But the fantasy never really went away, and when Blaine became a teacher, it all sort of... came back.

The fantasy goes like this: for reasons that Kurt has no desire to establish, Professor Anderson doesn’t teach law – he teaches a course on sexuality instead, except that he teaches it like those late-night sex shows with the soothing music and the slow-motion pans of naked people as a soft-voiced narrator talks about _mutual pleasure_ and _sensuality_.  And Kurt is his student, young, hopelessly naive, and so virginal he makes freshly fallen snow look like a coal mine.

(He’s not sure why he keeps on casting himself as the innocent ingénue who gets seduced in his fantasies; it’s possibly because his actual relationship with Blaine was pretty much the exact opposite – in fact, he practically had to take Blaine’s hands and put them on his ass himself before Blaine would touch him below the waist.)

Anyway, fantasy!Kurt is so inexperienced that he’s actually never had an orgasm (yeah, yeah – he did say this one made no sense), and he goes to his professor for assistance.  And because this is _Kurt’s fantasy, damn it,_ Professor Anderson says yes.

Oh God, Blaine doesn’t even _touch_ him in this one, just sits at the edge of his desk with his sweater-vest and perfectly pressed pants and _glasses_ and _talks_ to Kurt, guiding him in the slow exploration of his body.  He tells Kurt exactly where to touch, how hard, how long, how many times, and it’s like his voice holds Kurt in thrall – he can’t help but obey.  When Kurt’s breath hitches as his fingers skate over his nipples, Professor Anderson makes him bring his hands back there and pinch them, then tug them, scrape his nails over them, until the nubs have hardened to red pebbles and Kurt’s humping the air in desperation and need.  He talks Kurt through his first masturbatory experience, forcing him to keep his touches light to draw it out for as long as possible, not relenting until Kurt _begs_ him, writhing and sobbing, to please let him come.  But Blaine refuses; he makes Kurt stop stroking himself, actually has him put his hands behind his back and _wait_ for him to come back down a bit from the edge, whereupon he asks Kurt to suck a finger into his mouth and use his other hand to spread his ass open. 

Kurt comes with three fingers up his ass and Professor Anderson’s name on his lips, spurting everywhere as he struggles for breath, clenching hard around his fingers.  And when he finally comes down, Professor Anderson just smiles at him and says, “Not bad for a first attempt.  But you might want to get some remedial help from me later, if you really want to be good at this.”

And when that “later” comes?  That’s when Professor Anderson shows him the _good_ stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was loads of fun to write, and also contains the POV voice that's closest to my own. Personal favourite!


End file.
